The pleasure she got from his anger—and the red burn of humiliation on his neck—gave her the determination and courage to continue. She laughed so loudly her throat hurt.
“Control yerself now!” He gripped her arms harder. Rage twisted his face, and his lips curled back in a feral smile. “We’ll see if this makes ye laugh,” he said in a dark tone that made her shiver yet did nothing to stop the laughter.
Colin dragged her forward to the fire and shoved her onto her knees in front of it. Sudden fear consumed her as he reached for an iron rod, and she immediately ceased laughing. He was going to cauterize her. She began struggling away from him, but she was no match for his strength.
He thrust the end of the iron into her face. “Do ye see this?”
She jerked her head in a nod as she made out the lettersCRC.
He thrust the iron into the fire and curled his fingers into her shoulder until a whimper of pain burst from her lips. After a short spell, he brought the iron out, released the hand that held her shoulder, and yanked up the sleeve of her dress. Fear gave her more strength. She shoved backward, but he lunged at her, caught her by the wrist, and flipped her arm over to reveal its underside. His eyes met hers, and the cruelty she saw there made her heart stutter.
The scorching iron met the flesh above her wrist before she could do more than blink. Agony shot from where the iron was burning her and spread outward like a sweeping flame. Tears stung her eyes and blurred her vision. It seemed like forever that he left the iron against her arm, but finally he pulled it away and tossed the iron into the fire. He pulled her wrist up in front of her face. “Colin Rory Campbell,” he growled, squeezing her wrist. “Ye are mine.”
Her gaze fastened on the letters burned into her flesh. The ugliness of the raw skin made her stomach turn, but from somewhere within, cold hatred sprang and swept through her.
She held his gaze, unblinking, and parted her numb lips. “I will nae ever be yers.”
The brutal blow that met her left cheek sent her flying to the ground. Before she could rise to her knees, Colin clasped her under the arms and yanked her to her feet, only to rip off the gown she wore. When she stood bare, he turned her to him and gripped her chin. “Before this night is over, ye will ken that I own ye.”
She had long since lost her bow and arrows—her weapon to defend herself—but she now was stripped of clothing and worse than that—hope. Colin had taken everything from her that could possibly be taken. All she had left was the ability to enrage him with her laugher. So she opened her mouth and did the only thing she could: she laughed at him.
His face became a glowing mask of rage. He threw her on the bed and met her defiance with pain like she had never known. Each time he touched her roughly, covered her defiant laughter with his mouth, she died a little more, but when he invaded her, her outward rebellion stopped and she feared she really would die. Her foggy mind entreated her to survive for Marion, to help Marion escape. Marion had a bairn on the way and a husband who loved her.
Tears flowed down Bridgette’s face as Colin abused her body, and shame like she had never known settled deep within her. She squeezed her eyes shut and began to plan his death. Was there a weapon in here she could use? She tried to picture the room and all the things it contained. So engrossed was she that when Colin’s weight finally left her body, she was startled. She blinked and turned her head to find he had rolled on his side and his back was turned to her.
She did not move. She waited, counting the pulsing throbs of her seared arm. He would have to sleep, and then…then she would kill him. Since she did not dare move yet, she roamed the room with her eyes, searching for a weapon.
As she swept her gaze over a chest, something yellow caught her eye and she froze. She’d seen the Fairy Flag once as a child, and she remembered being enchanted by the bright yellow silk. Surely Colin was not such a fool to steal the flag, bring it here, and then not keep it guarded. She felt a grin twist her lips, and she knew it to be one of hatred and triumph. Colin was most assuredly a fool, and the more she stared at that yellow silk, the surer she became that it was the Fairy Flag.
It did not take long before the sounds of Colin’s slumber filled the bedchamber. With great care, she crept out of the bed, went straight to the chest, and moved the cloak that had been lying over the silk. She began to shake as she stared down at the MacLeod Clan’s sacred flag. With trembling hands, she picked up the flag and turned to find something with which to end Colin’s life. Her mind was as numb as her body while she searched for a weapon in the darkness, but no weapon was to be found. Then she thought of the iron and scurried toward the fire, but the flames burned so steadily that she could not even see the iron.
The need to fell Colin burned fiercely inside her, yet so did the desire to escape, save Marion, and return the Fairy Flag to the MacLeods. There was no more desire to save herself. It was too late for that. She finally forced herself to cease the futile search. She stood in the bedchamber and stared down at Colin.
“I will kill ye one day soon,” she vowed in a whisper.
With that promise, she turned and hurriedly donned her tattered gown and wound the flag around her ankle. She tied it there and dropped her skirt over it to hide it. She slipped quietly out of the bedchamber and down the corridor in search of Marion. She had no notion where Marion was being kept, but then the sound of racking sobs reached her, and she knew it was Marion.
Bridgette crept toward the bedchamber door, but it was locked. “Marion,” she said as low as she could. Three more times she called out to Marion thusly, not daring to raise her voice.
“Bridgette!” Marion finally responded.
Bridgette immediately shushed Marion, afraid her friend would alert someone. “Do ye ken who has a key to this room?”
“Nay,” Marion replied, her misery weighing her words heavily.
Bridgette stifled a curse and pressed a hand to the thick wooden door and dug her nails into the wood. A storm of despair swirled inside of her. She inhaled a long, fortifying breath. Shewouldhold back the misery that wanted to sweep her away. She had to.
“Dunnae fash yerself,” she whispered, hoping she did not sound as worried as she felt. “I will get us out of here.”
Suddenly, the air behind Bridgette shifted and gooseflesh covered her body. She turned swiftly to find Jamie’s daughter standing behind her, staring at her. Dark lashes veiled her slanted eyes, but when the woman raised them, her gaze swam with wariness. In one hand, the woman held a large iron key, and in the other, she held a dagger.
Apprehension trickled inside Bridgette. Was the woman friend or foe? Bridgette shuffled backward, smacking into the door.
The woman’s gaze moved swiftly over Bridgette, and she felt as if the woman could see the marks Colin had left upon her body. It was foolish. Though they pulsed with pain, they were hidden.
The stranger’s lips pressed into a thin line, and disgust washed over her face. “Give way,” she commanded in an urgent whisper.
“Give way?” Bridgette echoed, a thick fog blanketing her mind. Was the woman going to try to kill her or help her?
